


could be worse

by antimoth



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, M/M, absolute abuse of italics, almost 6k of gay huh, also sorry if its bad, and also the best siblings, ayyy first fic babey, but basically soren and marcos are in love idc if marcos only had 6 lines, claudia and soren are team rocket, i know viren is an asshole in here so i would say ooc but iS HE??, its like insinuated if u squint, me projecting onto soren like theres no tmw, me too, r u proud mom??, so sad press f, soren freaking out because someone showed him voluntary affection, soren has a disease called cant talk to cute boys, soren is kinda touch-starved i guess, soren is my fav so he must suffer its how i write, sorry - Freeform, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimoth/pseuds/antimoth
Summary: Marcos’s eyes, upon closer inspection weren’t as shallow a brown as he saw in the dimly lit castle corridor. They were a deep, earthy brown- the color of the Earth after torrential rains. A deep mahogany, with a mischievous glint that seemed to mirror the corners of his mouth, which had long ago given up fighting a smile. They were a plethora of colors in the rising sun; raw umber and caramel mix, dotted with bits of dark chocolate. They glowed with humor and playfulness that reflected his youth, but held a certain maturity in them. It gives Soren shivers and wraps him in a warm embrace at the same time. The colors mingle together, cascading an array of different shades throughout his gaze. Assuring familiarly and danger all at once. But most of all, they were deep, promising that drowning in them would be a sweet torture.Yeah, he was probably staring a little intensely.





	could be worse

**Author's Note:**

> SO, this is my first fic on this account and for tdp so constructive criticism is welcome, just please be nice. Enjoy!  
> (also the italics are either dialogue from Soren's memories or his inner dialogue. sry if it's confusing)

Soren whistled tunelessly at the walls, dragging his heels behind him as he walked. His armor was getting heavier each minute and the halls were beginning to blur. Paintings of past kings and monarchs began to look the same. And he _swore_ he past that bust like two minutes ago. He rounded a corner and glanced out a window, the sky was still pitch black. Soren sighed. He was on patrol for another few hours and then he could sleep.

           

            _Sleep_ , he thought with a dopey smile on his face. It took him several seconds of standing in the corridor with a stupid grin plastered to his face before he noticed he’d come to a standstill. He shook his head and cleared his throat. He knew no one else was awake at this hour, but still, you don’t become the youngest captain of the guard in the history of Katolis without being a little precautious.

           

            He began whistling again, louder this time, trying to drown out the annoying voice in the back of his head whispering, _sleep, sleep, sleep,_ in the voice he’d imagined that freaky, shiny turtle Prince Ezran had if it could talk. Whistling soon turned into beatboxing, which turned into rapping, which turned into singing. By the time Soren was nearing his father’s workroom he’d given the wallpaper quite the performance. _If this guard thing flops, I’m entering Kotalis got Talent,_ he vowed to himself.

           

            He turned another corner, the workroom now in sight. Soren shivered, the air here felt dead, different from the sweet breeze that wafted through even the stuffy corridors. This air felt like nothing, like it wasn’t even there. A void.

            Another voice, one that sounded suspiciously like Claudia, told him to _stop being such a baby, it’s just dark magic_. Yeah well, he didn’t like dark magic. He never did. Although his father did not appreciate his distaste towards it.

           

            He remembered when he was a kid, his father putting him through different tests as a child, trying to find his connection to dark magic. Find the “string,” he told Soren, “find it and pull on it, _that’s_ dark magic.”

            He recalls pain, so much pain. Like sharp needles prickling against his arms, his throat, his lungs. He remembers the darkness of the woods, the confusion as to why his father had left him there for the night, with nothing but a dagger barely big enough to cause any damage, but still heavy in his clumsy two-year-old fingers. He remembers animals and creatures approaching him, sniffing with curiosity at his curled up body. He remembers the stench of blood on their teeth, the iron invading his senses, choking him. He remembers his own blood, roaring through his ears like a river, loud and painful. Soren was only two at the time, but he wishes he was never born.

           

            He remembers a bright light shining after hours spent in the woods, blinding him, it took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the sudden glow after hours or days, Soren didn’t know, of pure darkness. He blinked out enough tears to make out the palm emitting the light-- his fathers. He’d looked at him with something like pity and disgust and _shame_ all rolled into one. It’s a look his father has been giving him his whole life. He remembers getting back home to the castle and listening to a woman, _his mother,_ shouting at his father from the next door over.

            _“How could you do that Viren?! He is a_ child _, he is your child! Not another experiment!”_

 _“Exactly!” his father yelled back, “He_ is _my child! And do you know the shame I’ve had to endure from his failure?! I’m the most powerful mage in the whole of Katolis and my own son can’t even cast a simple spell!”_

           

            The memory stopped there, or maybe it didn’t and he wasn’t willing to recall anymore.

            When it was clear he had no connection to dark magic, his father was furious. He became a different man. Locked away in his study, always muttering to himself, he didn’t notice Soren anymore, didn’t even look at him, and Soren couldn’t be more relived. He didn’t know what fathers were supposed to act like, so he just assumed that this was it. They ignored you, and did their own thing. Showed up during mealtimes (sometimes) and never spoke to you, never acknowledged you. And he was at peace with that. It gave him more time to use his that dagger when his dad wasn’t testing him. He’d never asked for that blade back after that night in the woods, so Soren had kept it. Mimicking the moves the older guards used during practice. He loved that blade, it was the only thing his father ever gave him.

           

            He became different when Claudia was born, there was that sparkle in his eyes, the look Soren later saw in King Harrow’s when he played with his sons. Fatherhood. Love. Up until now, both concepts had been foreign to him, and to see them on his father’s face was... uplifting. It made him think maybe he hadn’t screwed everything up, maybe he still had a chance for his father to say the word ‘ _son’_ with pride and joy instead of resignation and tiredness.

           

            But his father payed even less attention to him, spending all his time with Claudia. Running tests on her, although these ones were a success. And the sparkle in his eyes shifted, taking a slightly crueler tone. Something calculating, working like gears. It wasn’t love and fatherhood in his gaze anymore, more like curiosity, like she was a specimen he couldn’t wait to slice open.

           

            Besides his father Soren only remembers fragments of other things; scenes in his head, not sure if they were a memory or dream, certain smells, the feeling of different materials in his hands, on his face.

            He didn’t know where they came from, but he suspects they’re from his mother. He remembers her laugh, flowy and trickling like a stream. Her smile, always crooked when she looked at him, like happiness was their own inside joke. The ways she used to let him braid flowers into her hair as they lay in the gardens. How she always complimented his skills with his dagger, watching him stumble through snippets of exercises he’d memorized while she breastfed Claudia. The perfume she wore, slightly bitter.

           

            He remembered a few years ago when Claudia had found a bottle of it, hidden away somewhere, and put it on. She was too young to have known these small things. The little details, what made Soren’s mother something he knew he couldn’t have dreamt up. Made her more than a ghost.  And as horrible as it sounded, Soren was almost glad Claudia couldn’t recall these things. It gave him something when he had nothing.

           

            _‘Memories are powerful, my little knight,’ she’d said, stroking his chubby cheek, ‘so don’t ever forget me. Because I’ll make you strong. If you remember.’_ She’d smiled so much it was hard to see the sadness in her eyes.

           

            So when she walked into breakfast that morning smelling just like _her_ , he didn’t realize the tears were slipping down his face until she pointed them out.

            “Uh Sorbear, you got a little...something on your face.” she’d said, looking at him curiously, with a hint of sympathy.

            He blinked, wiping his hand across his face and looking down at the teardrops as they slid off his fingers.

            “I-um gotta go.” He said, standing up abruptly from the table. He’d walked out of the room urgently, his head lowered. He didn’t need his father to see him cry, he’d never let him forget it.

            Through fresh tears that began forming as he passed Claudia on his way out, he glimpsed over at his father, squinting at a scroll on the table, his plate of food untouched.

           

            Either he hadn’t noticed the perfume yet, or he didn’t even remember. Soren didn’t think his father even spoke to his mother in her last years. The only memories he has of his father before Claudia were ones he’d shut out. Locked away, to never be touched or remembered. He knew it probably wasn’t healthy, and one day he’d have to open that can of worms and face the man his father became in those years before Claudia.

           

            _But today is not that day_ , he thought smugly, pulling himself out of his thoughts with another rap verse coming to mind.

           

            A loud clang and the shuffle of someone approaching snapped Soren out of his daze, drawing his sword out and taking a defensive position. He saw the shadow of someone bounce off the walls and the shuffling began to sound more like clanging.

            _Steel? Like armor? What is a member of the guard doing sprinting around the castle in the middle of the night?_

His question was answered as the guard arrived at the top of the stairs and threw himself at the door to his father’s room, not even noticing Soren standing there with is sword drawn.

           

            “High mage, please it’s important!” he yelled, pounding on the huge oak doors.

 _What kind of idiot...,_ Soren wondered to himself as he dropped his stance, more confused than alarmed. Not even Claudia dared to announce herself that way to their father.

            He seized the guard up, he was panting hard, his hand clutched to his chest. Dirt and mud was smeared onto his face, and twigs littered his ebony hair. Soren couldn’t see his face, but he looked youngish, probably around his age. He wondered how he’d never noticed him before, most of the guard were older, people that had been training for years to be on the guard.

           

            The doors swung open, to reveal his father, dressed in his dark robes, glaring at the guard like he was scum on the bottom of his shoe. Soren was _convinced_ there was a spell his father used to make his gaze pierce straight into your soul you when he was angry, and pull the truth from you, it was impossible to lie to him. It made sneaking out to parties in the village when he was younger damn near _impossible_.

            Before his father could open his mouth to probably hex the poor scout, he spoke again.

            “Lord Viren, I’ve see something.”

            His father’s eyes narrowed, “Seen what, boy?”

            The scout gulped, the adrenaline clearly wearing off, leaving him withering under his father’s scowl.

            “Elves sir, Moonshadow Elves.” He said, shakily, but with conviction.

            A look Soren had never seen cross his father face, surprise, and then, steely determination.

            “I will inform the king, thank you. Soren” He commanded, turning to where Soren had been, clinging to the shadows, and trying to fit the words ‘moonshadow elves’ into his brain without it exploding.

            “Take this guard back to the barracks and meet me in my study.”

            Soren should’ve straightened his spine and listened to his father, but his brain was still scrambled from the exhaustion and then the news drove him into asking his father, “What about Claudia?”

            He mentally slapped himself, and did his best not to quake under his father’s look. It was ‘ol reliable: disgust with a hint of shame.

            “She already knows.” He said cleanly, not sparing any extra words on Soren before turning on his heel and marching away from the two, his cloak shifting around his feet dramatically, the door shutting as he walked away.

           

            Soren did his best not to roll his eyes at his father’s retreating figure, _of course Claudia already knows he probably sent her a snapchat via freaky magic headspace bullshit._

He was brought out of his jealously induced glowering by the scout shifting awkwardly where he stood.

            Soren’s eyes snapped to him and... _whoa._

Why _hadn’t_ he noticed him before? The boy was cute, like dangerous to Soren’s health cute.

           

            His hair was still matted with twigs and leaves, sticking up in weird angles and his eyes were a liquidly brown, they looked like that hot brown morning potion Claudia made. He was a little shorter than Soren, who was six foot (not if you round up, _Claudia_ ). He was busy trying to see if the imperfections around his mouth were dimples or not, until the guard cleared his throat, snapping Soren out of his daze.

            “I-um if it’s okay I’ll just head back to the barracks...” said the guard, beginning to shuffle away from the bulky doors.

            “No!” said Soren, louder than he probably should’ve, as he thrust his arms out in a _stop_ gesture.

            The guard lifted one of his eyebrows and titled his head, looking more curious at Soren’s outburst than angry.

            “No?” he repeated, his mouth curving into a smirk.

            _Oh dragons, have mercy he looks like a puppy, strike me now, Claudia if you can hear me, please send your freaky smokey pit bulls after me._

“I... uh...what I _meant_ was that if what you say is true and there are Moonshadow elves out on the loose, you probably shouldn’t be walking around unprotected.” He finished, feeling rather proud of himself for saying something coherent.

            The guard’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows knitted together, “I am perfectly capable of protecting myself, thank you.” He said, in a clipped tone, glaring at Soren and storming off down the stairs.

           

            Soren stood there for a few seconds, unsure of what just happened.

            _I meant ‘protect you’ in a gentlemanly sort of way, not a ‘you can’t handle yourself way’._

Deciding to tell the cute guard that himself, Soren flew down the stairs, hoping he wasn’t too far away for him to catch up.

            Luckily, he wasn’t, Soren spotted him a few yards away walking across the courtyard in the direction of the barracks. He seemed to be limping a bit, probably why Soren was able to catch up to him so quickly.

            The guard tensed as he heard Soren approach, Soren saw his shoulders slump in defeat, resigning himself to another conversation with Soren. Soren pretended he didn’t notice that.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like you couldn’t protect yourself, I swear.” He said, stopping next to the scout and forcing every bit of sincerity he could into the statement.

            Cute guard stayed silent only looking Soren up and down before nodding once, Soren assumed that was his way of accepting the apology.

            “So, uh my name’s Soren.” He said lamely, thrusting his hand out, forcing cute guard to stop.

            Cute guard scrutinized his hand for a few seconds before taking it and shaking, “Marcos.” He said.

            “Soren.” Soren said again, like the fool he was.

            “Uh sorry I already-uh said that.” he grimaces as the words came out until looking down and realizing their hands had stopped shaking and were now still between the two.

            Marcos seemed to realize this the same time Soren did. He pulled his hand away and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, I know. You’re a pretty big deal, people didn’t shut up about you back home. Being the youngest captain in Katolis history and all that.”

            Soren grimaced again, “Oh yeah, guess so.” He knew being a captain of the guard at only 18 was insane. Never heard of. He supposed he should be happy about that. Well, don’t get him wrong, _he is_ , his father smiled at him the day it was announced. A _real_ smile. Not a thin-lipped wince. Something _real_ , and _warm_. He felt like someone had tried to fit the sun in him after that. His face kept spazzing out from smiling so hard. Claudia said he looked like a total idiot, but he knew she was proud of him too.

           

            But the feeling wore off. His father went back to ignoring him, Claudia was too busy trying to master dark magic and studying, which he wasn’t bitter about. Trust him, the last thing he’d want is his father breathing down his neck, expecting perfection. And knowing it will come too. That’s how it was with Claudia. He expected perfection from both his children, but with Claudia he knew it would come. He’d given up on Soren long ago. And he was at okay with that, he’d made himself okay with that. But still, a traitorous part of him whispered into his ear how nice it would be to at least _have_ his attention. Even if it’s disappointment. But Soren was another failed project, another experiment gone awry and swept under the carpet. He’s spent years trying to compress that fact into a size he could swallow without choking.

           

            “Although I always thought it was total bullshit.” Said Marcos bluntly, interrupting his self-depreciating thoughts with a smile that almost distracted Soren from the insult.

            “I’m sorry, _what_?” said Soren, trying to understand what Marcos just said. And not because it was an insult, he knew far too well how those sounded. But it was freakishly unusual for a guard to ever even speak to him. The older soldiers looked at him like he was a rash, irritating their skin, but they could only do so much, they just had to wait for it to go away. The younger guards, only ever glare at him. Still learning the respect the older ones have. Still so angry at him for existing. Like him breathing in their general vicinity was a personal insult. But the problem with both was the same; he was young. The youngest. And that pissed them off. The younger guards had yet to see him in battle, to learn that respect the older guards had. The older guards, had seen him fight, they knew why he was where he was. But that didn’t stop them from looking down on him, slightly amused as well, like watching a puppy chase its own tail and you think, _aww look how cute and dumb it is!_ The way you look at something stupid and finite.

           

            He’d approached Claudia about this months ago, asking her what to do. Claudia always had answers.

            _‘Hey C, what should I do about the older guards?’ he asked, looking at her from where he lay on his back on the grass._

_She didn’t bother to look up from her book, ‘Hmm?’_

_‘I mean, they keep acting like I’m some kid, which yeah, I know I am,_ _but I’m their superior! I’m where I am because I’m_ good _at what I do, and I’m tired of them always looking at me like they’re just biding their time until I inevitably screw up!’ he ranted._

_This time Claudia looked up from her ten pound novel, ‘They don’t fear you.’ She answered simply, like that cryptic ass statement would unravel the mystery of the universe._

_‘What do you mean they don’t fear me?’ he asked, perplexed and exasperated at her vagueness._

_‘It’s obvious,’ she said, ‘they don’t fear you, they’re amused by you at best. According to them you’re just daddy’s spoiled boy, who expects everything. They don’t respect you because they see no reason for respect. Give them one. Fear is respect._ Make _them fear you.’ she ended airily, like this was clear from the start, before turning back to her book._

_Soren turned back up to the cloudless sky, the color of soft periwinkle. His mother always said his eyes reflected the sky. He ran those words through his brain until they made him feel dizzy. ‘Make them fear you.’_

_So if Soren ran drills for longer, earlier and harder the next morning, and yelled at a soldier for the first time in his life, he pretended he didn’t know why._

“I’m only three months older than you.” Marcos said, leaning on his left side, probably to help ease the pain off his right. “You might be the youngest captain, but I’m not far behind, hot shot.” He finished with another smirk, revealing dimples that basically punched Soren directly in the sternum.

           

            _Oh, um okay he just called me hot shot, huh that’s neat, no one’s ever called me hot shot, or hot, or anything besides Soren or the occasional shithead, hmm interesting, oh and also, he has dimples. Did you notice those? Or should I remind you? Also, he’s cute, like_ super _cute, and also injured, go walk him to the infirmary you moose. And news flash: you should probably start talking you keep staring into his eyes like a weirdo, you affection-starved caveman._

Soren really loved his brain sometimes.

            “I’m sure you aren’t.” He answered, probably too late to be considered quick banter, but he said it without stuttering so he’s calling it a win.

            Marcos smiled, his eyes literally twinkling in the night sky, that was beginning to brighten. It was later (or earlier) than Soren thought.

            “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, keeping Marcos’s leg and several other visible scratches in mind.

            Marcos’s smile immediately dissipated and Soren felt it like a pike to the chest. “I told you, I can look after myself.” He said coldly, before turning on his heel and marching back towards the barracks.

            _Dumbass,_ was the only thing his mind supplied to him.

           

            Soren tried to process what just happened. He whipped his head around, “Wait!” he shouted after Marcos, who turned around this time only to make a pained expression and crumple to the ground.

            Soren, being the chivalrous knight he was, rushed over immediately to catch Marcos before his head smacked against the cobblestone. Marcos blinked a couple times, before opening his eyes and looking up at Soren confused to be seeing him and not stars.

            “Wow, didn’t think you’d fall for me so quick.” He said, with the biggest shit eating grin known to humankind.

            “Why do I even talk to you?” Marcos asked, deadpan, his head still in Soren’s palm. Soren grasped his other hand to pull him up off the ground, letting Marcos sling his arm over Soren’s shoulder to keep him from falling again.

            “Because I’m such a delight to be around?” he said, jokingly. He usually said stuff like that without thinking twice. A way to not think so hard after being told to go away or stop being so annoying. It was better to have a bruise on his head from Claudia hitting him with a book, or his father’s usual glare to dwell on afterwards than asking their question over and over in his head.

            “Hmm,” Marcos said, looking up at the sky as it turned from royal blue to a bruised purple, before looking directly into Soren’s eyes, “maybe.”

           

            _You walked right into that one, you absolute buffoon. Oh, and also, in case you didn’t notice, you are face to face with him and his arm is over your shoulder and... yup, there they are, dimples are makin’ another cameo._

His internal dialogue was not something he could say he appreciated.

           

            Soren chose to ignore the comment, and only think about it intensely for hours later while staring at his ceiling, for now Marcos needed to get to the infirmary.

            He readjusted his grip on Marcos side, trying not to get his fingers pinched in his armor, “Come on, we need to get you to the infirmary. Can’t have the second youngest guard bleeding to death in the middle of the courtyard.”

            “Fair enough.” Marcos replied.

            They walked for a few minutes in silence that Soren couldn’t tell if it was companionable or awkward. Marcos cleared his throat.

            “I’m new here you know, so I haven’t seen you fight yet.” Marcos said, his face now glowing from dawn lighting up the horizon. “Are you as good as they say?”

            Soren smirked, he was feeling more comfortable around Marcos now, less stutter-y. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, spotting the infirmary close in the distance.

            “I was thinking more like a date.” Marcos said, far too nonchalantly.

            Soren whipped his head around to Marcos so fast it cramped, but he was far too busy trying to comprehend what just happened.

           

            _He asked you out on a date, it’s not too hard to understand. Now, the question is, do you want to go on said date?_

Uh, duh. Soren always sucked at math, like not just your average 70% average per test and general distaste for the subject, more like he would’ve failed if not for Claudia’s tutoring and the occasional note scrawled on his arm during a test. And even than he barely scraped by. But this was as simple as equations got. Cute boy+asks you out= say yes, you chop.

           

            But apparently he took too long to answer and his face probably looked like he’d watched Callum attempt to flirt with Claudia (truly a disaster to witness) or a bee stung him on his tongue. Truth was, he was already overwhelmed by the easy banter that had been flowing between them, Marcos doing crazy things like talking to him _directly_ , or _smiling_ at him or _casually touching_ him like he’d known Soren for years. Like he actually wanted him there. And talking to him wasn’t some herculean task, that he was only completing because Claudia bribed him or because he wanted a raise. Like he was just happy to be there, existing, breathing, not expecting anything. Just enjoying the feeling of being in Soren’s orbit. Like that was enough.

            It baffled him.

            While he was having this minor crisis, Marcos’s face slowly went from cocky and smiling to concerned to cringing, before settling on devastation. “Oh um- sorry, I uh...just _assumed_ sorry for uh- assuming. I think I can make it to the infirmary from here. Thanks Soren, uh Captain.” He said before giving a salute and hobbling in the direction of the infirmary.

           

            It was the loss of warmth that eventually snapped Soren out of it.

            He reached forward and grabbed Marcos hand, not thinking about it. He always had to ask for physical affection from anyone in his family, besides his mother. His father never offered or accept such requests. And Claudia was weird about getting touched, she didn’t like it. Soren was certain it had something to do with dark magic but he never pushed it. She was okay with affection, just not with skin.

            “Yes!” he shouted. “I uh-yes, I’d like that very much.”

            Marcos turned around, his face about as red as the rising sun. Soren was sure his was just as bad, if not worse.

            “R-really?” he asked, suddenly unsure, his confidence gone. But he made no comment about the hand holding so Soren didn’t let go.

            “Uh yeah, I’d really like that.” Soren muttered, looking everywhere but Marcos eyes, but refusing to let go of his hand. It was warm, Soren found himself really liking it.

            _Ugh your hands are probably sweaty though, he’s probably suuupppeerrr uncomfortable. You should let go._

Please choke, Soren responded to his thoughts.

            “Oh okay.” Marcos said, sounding surprised like he was certain Soren was going to trip him up and yell ‘Sike!’ before teabagging and demoting him.

            They stayed there, staring into each other’s eyes as the sun rose illuminating both their faces ~~like a couple of hets from some clichéd teen movie.~~

           

            Marcos’s eyes, upon closer inspection weren’t as shallow a brown as he saw in the dimly lit castle corridor. They were a deep, earthy brown- the color of the Earth after torrential rains. A deep mahogany, with a mischievous glint that seemed to mirror the corners of his mouth, which had long ago given up fighting a smile. They were a plethora of colors in the rising sun; raw umber and caramel mix, dotted with bits of dark chocolate. They glowed with humor and playfulness that reflected his youth, but held a certain maturity in them. It gives Soren shivers and wraps him in a warm embrace at the same time. The colors mingle together, cascading an array of different shades throughout his gaze. Assuring familiarly and danger all at once. But most of all, they were deep, promising that drowning in them would be a sweet torture.

            Yeah, he was probably staring a little intensely.

           

            “But for now,” he said, breaking up their little ogle session, “you need to get to the infirmary.”

            Marcos nodded in agreement, eventually letting their hands slowly slip out of each other’s grasp, “Can’t sweep you off your feet if I can’t walk, right?”

            Soren scoffed, glad to be back to their flirty banter, but still missing the warmth of his hand, “I think _I’ll_ be the one doing the sweeping, thanks.”

            Marcos grinned over his shoulder as he walked through the infirmary door, “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

            _What a little-_

Soren could feel the raging heat on his ears, he was certain he was about to die.

            The infirmary door swung shut and Soren was left in the courtyard to watch the sun rise and walk through what just occurred.

            Okay, so you, a) met and proceeded to accidently insult a cute boy b) you chased cute boy out of the castle, and got his name c) awkwardly flirted and somehow survived and d) score a freaking _date_ with said cute boy. Yeah that was as good as it got.

           

            Too bad Claudia decided to appear and ruin everything. Like a tumor.  

            “Heyyy pretty boy” came a bodiless voice from his shoulder, scaring him out of his daydreams of chocolate eyes and warm hands and dimpled smiles, into screeching.

            Claudia proceeded to laugh like a horse would, slapping her knees like the rowdy gremlin she was. Soren crossed his arms, and gave her his best disapproving big brother glare.

            “There is something fundamentally wrong with you, Claudia.” He said, watching her regain her composure and wipe tears from her eyes.

            “You never fail to crack me up, Sorbear.” She responded, straightening out her back and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “But c’mon we gotta get to dad before he blows his lid.”

           

            Soren wholeheartedly agreed. There were four constants in his life: His sword, Claudia, his love for socks (in the shower of course) and his father’s disappointment. He didn’t want to make that last one worse. But Claudia seemed to be in no rush, strolling across the lawns and leaning the majority of her weight on Soren.

            “So,” she began, Soren knew silence never lasted long with Claudia, hoping for a whole ten minute walk to his father’s study without any pestering was too much to ask for, “who was tall, dark and handsome back there?” she asked, jostling his side, he was grateful for his armor, Claudia had freakishly bony elbows.

            Soren kept his face neutral although he could feel that warmth by his ears again, “No one you need to know about.” He answered simply, hoping she’d stop there.

            “C’mon Sor, I gotta know his name, it’s kind of hard to give the shovel talk if I can’t even track him down.” She said menacingly, slamming her fist into her open palm in a way he assumed she thought was intimidating. Claudia was terrifying sure, but Soren was her brother, and had _way_ too much dirt on her to ever feel anything but smug. It was older sibling culture.

            “Well, what were _you_ doing hanging around the infirmary?” he asked instead, trying to turn the conversation off him. He succeeded, but her eyes said she’d bring this up later.

            Her eyes lost their sparkle of humor and immaturity, became guarded and serious. The happy-go-lucky grin melting off her face. “You know what I was doing.” She answered somberly and tightly.

           

            Soren felt like an idiot. What else would she be doing by the infirmary in the middle of the night? She’d been doing this since she was 12. Sneaking off to the infirmary sometimes, during the night, using what magic she could to help patients. A couple miracle healings here and there were dismissed pretty quickly with the constant movement and danger living in Katolis brung.

           

            He knew she needed this, needed to feel like she could give life for once instead of take it. She was 16. A child. She didn’t deserve this burden. To be born into death and pain, told giving it is her gift and she should grateful. She’d often come to his room when they were younger, sniffling and drying tears on her sleeve before slipping into Soren’s bed (uninvited of course, but he didn’t mind) after a particular session with their father that evening. He knew there were things that haunted her, she’d learned how to deal with it the older she got. But from time to time, he would hear that creak of his door opening in the middle of the night. First his hand would go to the dagger he kept under his pillow, the one from his father, preparing to defend himself. But then he heard the sniffles and hiccups and dragging feet. He moved over and let her slip in under the covers. She was like him, she needed warmth. She needed know there was still life, there was still something breathing. That there was light despite the darkness.

           

            He knew she was at a constant battle with herself, she never spoke of it but he knew. The way she carried herself some days and the ghosts in her eyes that would eventually disappear a week or two after the occurrence. If their father noticed, he never spoke of it. She was a killer and he was a failure. Real prodigies they were.

           

            But he refused to have his day ruined because of things that have already happened. Things that he can’t stop. No point dwelling on the inevitable. So he pulled Claudia closer, almost into a chokehold before whispering in her ear, “Last one to the study has to make pancakes for the winner.” Before tearing off towards the castle. Claudia was shorter and smaller than him, and his armor would slow him down. But to be honest he didn’t really care. There were things he knew he could never solve and things he can’t change. But he’s about to eat pancakes and go on a date with a cute boy later. Things could be worse.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> what ya think? kudos and comments make may heart truly go doki doki so PLEASE. in here it's insinuated that viren ran 'tests' on soren as a kid and was basically a huge asshole, and YES all of this is what i think, i'm not insinuating anything, its just what i've written. chill my ppl.  
> also follow me on tumblr @sorens-socks ;)


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